Molded Together
by timeiscontagious
Summary: Their story wasn't one to swoon over or idealize.


Their story wasn't one to swoon over or idealize.

He killed her friend's aunt. She tried to kill his siblings.

But he helped her live. And that had to count for something.

It definitely wasn't love at first sight. In fact, he only saw her as a means to an end and she hated his fucking guts. His desire started before hers did, but she eventually caught up to him. They had a rocky start. Her friends felt betrayed. His family found the idea preposterous.

Neither she nor he thought this would actually work.

But after the dust settled and they were left in peace, they figured they could at least give it a shot.

* * *

><p>They were married in some dusty town 20 miles outside of Nogales by a justice of the peace. Neither one of them understood a word, but they said "I do" when nodded at. They signed the license, got hugged by the two old ladies they pulled from the street to be witnesses, and made their way to greener pastures.<p>

It was months before they realized what they had done.

* * *

><p>He traced circles on her back as she slept. He loved the way her skin felt against his fingertips. She stirred, turning towards him and wrapping herself in his arms. They molded together.<p>

Everything was right in the world.

* * *

><p>Their sixth anniversary was a disaster. He planned a trip to Johannesburg, but two days before they were set to leave, they argued and the trip was cancelled. They separated for two months, believing the time apart would do them some good. She went her way and he went his, promising to reassess their relationship after some soul searching.<p>

Over cappuccinos in Milan, they decided to call it quits.

Two weeks later they got back together in front of the Wailing Wall. Somehow, it seemed appropriate.

* * *

><p>They were playing at domesticity. It was an avenue they hadn't gone down yet. He compelled a nice family to move to Queens so that they could take over a brownstone in Brooklyn.<p>

It was spacious. It was quiet. It was boring.

So they left and moved into a penthouse in Manhattan.

They spent a lot of time pretending to be people of importance, attending benefits for charities they didn't support and spending money they didn't technically have. After one such night, they arrived home in an exhilarated mood. They had just "won" tickets for a cruise that someone else bid on. They stumbled into their bedroom, laughing so hard they actually shed tears.

He sat on the bed and took off his shoes. She took off her earrings.

He tilted his head and smiled.

* * *

><p>After twenty years together, some days felt like an uphill battle. They had run out of things to talk about by then. They knew everything there was to know about each other. The mystery was dead. The fire put out.<p>

Once again they thought it was a good idea to take "a break." She went back to Mystic Falls to visit her mother. He wandered the beaches of Bali, wondering where the life he planned for himself went.

They didn't speak.

* * *

><p>After six years of no contact, they ran into each other in Costa Rica. She was there vacationing with Stefan. He was with Kol, getting drunk and feeding on tourists. She wished she could say that they fell right into each other's arms, but that was not the case. It was an awkward encounter. They didn't know what to say or where to look. She stared at a rock by the side of his head, and he seemed very interested in the pebbles at his feet.<p>

They both walked away hoping to never relive that encounter again.

* * *

><p>She went looking for him. Stefan tried to talk her out of it, but she didn't hear a word he said. She wandered his favorite cities, looking for the loudest, most ostentatious party in the area.<p>

It took her two months.

He was at some hotel in Tokyo with a name she couldn't pronounce. She weaved through the crowd, pushing past girls with bite marks all over their bodies. It disgusted her.

It made her jealous.

She located him in the living room, drinking scotch and talking to some girl with a bad dye job. She picked the girl up by her shirt and tossed her into the kitchen. She turned to him and said what she had been waiting six years to say.

I miss you.

He smiled.

They would give it a shot.


End file.
